When I Grow Up (Tales from Foster High)

by John Goode

  It was, like, four kinds of awesome.

  Once it got dark, we’d either cook something or go out and wander around our neighborhood to see what was happening. We ended up becoming addicted to Blondie’s Pizza, which sold these huge slices of the best pizza we’d ever eaten. I ended up extending my daily run to burn off the slices we’d chow down on every night before coming home and putting each other to bed.

  It was everything I thought being a grown-up would be like.

  I knew once school started, I was going to need to get a job. Not that we needed the money, but there was no reason for me to sit home and do nothing all day waiting like a golden retriever for Kyle to get home. I had no idea what I was qualified for, but I wasn’t worried. So far things had been working out awesome, and I had faith that trend would continue.

  The week before his first classes, Kyle said he was going to close the DC account because he wasn’t going to have time to play once the semester started.

  “You don’t know that,” I said, pausing the game. “We could find some time, like on the weekends.”

  He shook his head and continued looking at something on his laptop. “Weekends are going to be even worse. I bet they’re the only time I’m going to have to catch up on reading or sleeping.” He glanced up at me. “It’s just a game, Brad; it’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t just a game. It was something we could do together.

  Those last few days, I was desperate to find something we could do that didn’t involve school, because I knew what was going to happen. He was going to start classes and be doing stuff that I had no idea how to help with. I mean, I barely got through high school; college stuff was going to be hieroglyphics to me. He was going to go off and do his college thing, and I was going to be the fucking dog waiting for him to get home no matter what.

  The more I pushed, the worse it got, until the weekend he finally blew up.

  I had gone out and bought a couple of board games I thought he’d like. Axis & Allies, which looked like Risk for smart people; some Settlers game I saw online; and Cards Against Humanity, which I didn’t understand at all. When I pulled them out and asked him to pick one, he just stared at me like I was insane.

  “You bought all these?”

  I nodded.

  “Brad, why?” His voice got a little louder. “I told you I’m not going to have time to play games once school starts—any games.” He glanced over the games. “Settlers and Cards are to be played with a group, not just two people anyways,” he sighed. “Did you keep the receipt, at least?”

  “You don’t even want to try them?” Now I was pretty sure I was whining.

  “No.” His voice made it pretty clear that he was done talking. “We need to start thinking of important things now. We’re not going to be able to spend all day wasting our time forever.”

  “Wasting…?” I asked, crushed. “You think we’re just wasting time?”

  “Until school starts, yeah.” He put the games back in the bag. “Why, what did you think it was?”

  I didn’t say a word; I just grabbed the bag and walked out.

  That was right before I met Colt.

  Kyle

  NOW YOU had to see it there, right?

  I mean, who blows, like, eighty bucks on board games? It was insane, and he pouted all weekend like I had kicked him or something. Less than forty-eight hours before I started college, and he was upset because I didn’t want to play stupid games. I should have said something then, sat down and tried to get him to understand that we didn’t have time to be dumb kids anymore. I needed to do perfectly because there were no second chances for me. If my grades sucked, I was out.

  But instead I said nothing, and he ended up meeting that fucktard Colt.

  Brad

  I FELT more like his parent than his boyfriend the first day of school.

  We had already walked the path to and back from the campus a couple of times to familiarize him with where everything was. The Phans’ place was less than ten minutes’ walking distance, which was perfect for Kyle. He’d bought himself a new laptop, and I had gotten him a satchel that could carry the couple of books he needed each day. He had two classes a day plus labs, which sounded like a dick move. I mean, seriously? Not only do you have to come to this class, but then come back and do more stuff for the same class later.

  Kyle didn’t seem to mind.

  “Got your phone and charger?” I asked him as he checked his satchel for the millionth time. He loved that thing but he’d never admit it. I’d found it on Etsy and it’d cost me a couple hundred bucks, but that was okay ’cause I’d sold a bunch of my baseball cards on eBay to pay for it and given it to him as a graduation gift. It was worn leather and just screamed Kyle—new, old, smart, sexy. Jesus, I got misty watching him get ready for school.

  I had officially become my mom.

  He nodded at my question and then asked, “You going to be all right? You want to meet up there for lunch?”

  “Nah,” I said, trying to play as casual as I could. “I need to run, clean up around here, and then find a job doing something.”

  He put the satchel down and moved over to me. “You know there’s no hurry,” he lied.

  “I know,” I lied back. “But I need to do something.”

  “There are tons of junior colleges around here…,” he offered for the millionth time.

  “Dude,” I said, giving him a grin. “I just got out of lockup. No way am I letting them drag me back alive.”

  He chuckled, but I could tell he didn’t think it was funny. “Okay, just saying. We have enough money to get you some classes, easy.”

  “Go to school, young man,” I ordered, pointing at the door, trying to deflect the coming argument.

  He kept staring at me for a couple of seconds before shaking his head and grabbing his satchel. “I’ll see you after class.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Have fun getting sweaty and stuff.”

  I pulled him into a hug. “I’d rather get sweaty with you.”

  He gave me a real kiss, and we silently decided to drop the subject altogether.

  Avoiding fights had been happening more and more, and suddenly I understood how my mom and dad got into the stalemate they called a marriage. Landmines seemed to have popped up all around the apartment, and we were both discovering them. I didn’t want to go back to school no matter what; he didn’t want to try anything I liked doing; he hated the fact I was obsessive about the way I kept my clothes; and I was tired of watching documentaries on Netflix.

  But we said nothing, because what was there to gain by having a fight?

  I wasn’t going to school, I didn’t expect him to keep his clothes in the same shape I kept mine, he didn’t want to work out, and I became addicted to Candy Crush on my phone while he watched his snorefests on the only TV we owned.

  Problems solved.

  For now.

  Anyway, he walked out, and I could feel my world shifting under me as everything changed again. The apartment was stupid quiet with him gone; I had never noticed before it was bigger than it looked. I poured myself another bowl of cereal and watched Supernatural on TNT for another hour or so.

  I rinsed my bowl and stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do next.

  Kyle

  SO, TECHNICALLY, I had time before declaring a major, which was good because I didn’t know what I wanted to do.

  Part of me figured business as a sure thing; another part looked at medical. However, when I walked into civics, the choice was made for me.

  Civics was a required entry-level course, which meant the lecture hall was filled with freshmen and the occasional sophomore. The room was huge, an amphitheater setup where the seats went up and up, all focused on the small stage where the teacher… taught. A huge screen projected what was on the professor’s laptop, so no matter where in the room I sat, I’d have no trouble following lectures. The quote that greeted us when we straggled in was “‘For good ideas and true innovation, you
need human interaction, conflict, argument, debate.’ Margaret Heffernan.”

  I found a seat near the back and set up my laptop before I pulled out my books. There were two books listed as advanced reading for the course, and neither seemed to make any sense to me. One was Dude, Where’s my Country? by Michael Moore and the other, by Glenn Beck, was Arguing with Idiots. Honestly, you couldn’t have found two books that were more completely opposed to each other if you tried. The syllabus had no textbook, no study guide; all I saw was that I should buy those two books and bring an open mind.

  All I wanted was a simple class with answers that were right or wrong.

  The place filled up pretty quickly, and when the bell rang, an older gentleman who looked like he was the last of the great hippies walked out onto the stage and smiled at us. “Welcome to Fundamentals of American Civics, or just civics to its friends.” He paused for a laugh but all he got were fifty pairs of eyes blinking silently at him.

  “There are a lot of ways to pass this class,” he continued. “There are only a few to fail it. One, don’t show up. This is not a test-based class; it’s participation do-or-die, which means you have to be here and at least pretend to participate. The second is by calling me anything but Professor Madison. I am not ‘dude,’ ‘hey,’ ‘teacher,’ ‘sir,’ ‘old guy,’ or even ‘bro.’ You get one pass, and after that I will fail you.” There were a couple of chuckles. “I am not kidding. I went to a lot of trouble to get the title Professor, and I expect you to use it. If you ever go as far as doctorate, you’ll understand why. The third way you can fail this class is by not being able to defend your point of view. There is no right or wrong answer in this class; there are strong and weak arguments. ‘Just because,’ ‘that’s the way I feel,’ ‘it’s my opinion,’ and even ‘because everyone else says so’ are not reasons for you to believe something. They are excuses. We will be talking about a lot of topics and there are no time-outs. You will either defend your point of view, or your point of view and opinion will be ignored. Today there is too much emphasis on rewarding people for managing to arrive somewhere on time and just participating. This classroom is not one of those places. You will fight for your grade, most of the time against each other.”

  A lot of people glanced uncomfortably at other people glancing uncomfortably back at them. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t alone when I thought I had had no idea what I’d signed on for in Civics 101. This sounded more like a death match.

  “There is only one A in this class, period. It will be given to the student who attends every class, participates in every class, and is able to defend his or her position in the strongest way…. There may be a lot of B’s, but I promise you I will award only one A. If you want it, fight for it.”

  Suddenly, I wanted it, badly.

  “Did anyone read the books I assigned?”

  One black guy down in front and I raised our hands. Everyone else glared at us like we had screwed them over.

  Crap! Now I’m freaking out again! Is “black” right or just something we say in Texas? African American? Colored? Why is it whenever I think about these things, I feel like I’m one white hood away from being a Klan member? The other guy was not white; that good enough? Jeez, I suck at this.

  “Well, I see two people who are going to be ready for the first day participation grade. The rest of you? Better luck next time.” Quiet groans escaped some of the people around me. They were accompanied by definite glares. Look at me—my first day and I was making friends.

  “And you are?” Professor Madison asked the guy closest to him.

  “Teddy Bergman.” The guy stood up before he replied, his voice easily projecting to the rear of the room. He was cute in a nerdish sort of way. I mean to say that he was trying to look like a nerd rather than being one. He had the glasses, the bowtie, the skinny jeans. He was, in fact, one sonic screwdriver away from being a Time Lord.

  Teddy looked like a living example of what Robbie had been talking about back in Foster when he said I was rocking the nerd chic, except that had been the way I dressed. I had not been making a statement.

  Teddy here was making a statement.

  “Very good, Mr. Bergman. And you?” he asked me. I opened my mouth and he added, “Stand up. If you have something to say, say it with authority.”

  “Um, Kyle Stilleno, Professor.” I wanted to sit down, but Teddy was still standing, which meant this torture was just starting.

  “Very well, then. Since you two have read our two books, you are the only ones here ready to answer some questions based on what you’ve read. Mr. Bergman, why did I choose those two particular books?”

  He cleared his throat and gave a little smile like he was preparing to belt out a song from Oliver! instead of answer a question. “The two books show the vast array of opinions held in America today, each book covering one end of the political spectrum.”

  “And those are?” the professor asked.

  “Conservative and liberal,” he answered, with another smile. What did he want, a freaking bone?

  “Do you agree, Mr. Stilleno?” the professor asked me.

  I was going to just say yes since that was the textbook answer to the question, but something stopped me. This guy wasn’t a textbook professor. We didn’t need to read the books to know what Teddy had just said; the blurbs on the back could have told us that. He was looking for a deeper answer, an answer that had more meat rather than a regurgitation of facts.

  “No, sir, I don’t.”

  The professor raised an eyebrow. “Well then, why did I pick those two books?”

  “Because they show the absurdities that each side of an argument can harbor while claiming the other side is insane.”

  No one said a word, and Madison looked at me thoughtfully, possibly mulling over my answer. “Which book sounded more correct to you?”

  “Neither. They were both pretty out there,” I answered honestly. “I mean, each one had some good ideas, but once the authors went deeper into their topic it was obvious they had an agenda that had little to do with being fair and balanced.”

  “Why would either book want to be fair and balanced?” the professor asked.

  That stopped me cold.

  “Mr. Bergman, would you like to amend your answer in lieu of Mr. Stilleno’s observation?”

  Teddy shot me a glance, clearly trying to regroup. “I think you chose the books because their authors’ opinions are at the farthest ends of the political spectrum. Neither one is right; at the same time, neither of them could be called wrong.”

  The professor looked back at me.

  “No, they are both wrong, just in different ways.”

  Teddy turned back and looked at me. “You can’t say they are right or wrong, you can just say if you agree or not.”

  “No,” I said slowly. “I can pretty definitively say that neither of those books is right about much. All the authors are doing is telling their side of the problem to the people who agree with them.”

  “How do you expect the choir to sing if you don’t preach to them?” Teddy asked me, playing the crowd as a few of them chuckled.

  “Well, to run with your analogy, we’d all have to agree on the same piece of music to sing before there is any preaching, singing, or taking a bow. Those books don’t agree on anything, not the problem, the cause, or the solution. If we were to say that either one had any validity, then we’d spend the entire time arguing about what part was right or not instead of actually doing anything.”

  The professor looked back to Teddy, and I could see from here Teddy wasn’t happy at all.

  “But both points of view are valid,” he argued.

  I shook my head. “I disagree; they are opinions, but that doesn’t make them valid. Opinions are just that: opinions. Everyone has one and most of them are wrong.”

  Neither of us was waiting for the professor anymore. “And people aren’t allowed to have opinions?” he asked me.

  “Sure, you can have an opinion on w
hatever you want, but it doesn’t make it right, valid, or even interesting. It means it’s just something you think. What value does that have?”

  “To the person who has it?”

  “To anyone but them,” I answered back. “If we make all opinions worth something, then nothing matters anymore. The truth and facts have to mean more than just a point of view.”

  The professor looked back at Teddy, who was struggling to find something to come back with. “I don’t agree” was all he could muster.

  “Where are you from Mr. Stilleno?” the professor asked.

  “Foster, Texas,” I said, realizing with some surprise that I had a little pride in my voice when I said it.

  Teddy scoffed. “Oh, well, that makes sense, then.” He tried to make his words sound like he was just thinking out loud, but he still projected well enough for everyone to hear. “In Texas opinions might not count, but here in California, where we care about everyone, they matter.”

  I saw the professor open his mouth, but I cut him off at the pass. “So how long did you live in Texas?” I asked him. Teddy pointed at himself and I nodded. “Yeah, exactly how much time did you live in Texas?”

  “I haven’t.” He had the same amount of pride in that statement that I had in my own.

  “So, then, your vast experience living in Texas has proved to you that Texans don’t consider others’ opinions. Even better, once someone lives in California, his or her opinions about things like places they’ve never been are considered to be valid. That’s an impressive ability.”

  “Your state’s history speaks for itself,” he said, playing up the drama. “You can’t tell me that you’d defend it as an open-minded, forward-thinking place that welcomes change.”

  Now I was pissed.

  “We’re wandering off topic, but I’m willing to follow your train of thought. Well, let’s see: in small-town Foster, Texas, I came out as gay, my boyfriend played varsity baseball and led the team to our divisional championship, the school started a gay-straight alliance, and when the administration tried to ban us from going to our prom, both schools in town boycotted their proms and threw one for just us. All that took place in a small Texas town—you know, where we don’t value other opinions.” His mouth opened in shock, and I could feel more than a few people staring at me. “So next time you want to hang an ironclad conservative tag on an entire state, realize ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”